


Hurry Up and Wait

by dispatch



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, all chapters are bite size stories, not tagging all the clones but it they have a name there is a chance I will add them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dispatch/pseuds/dispatch
Summary: There's a lot of down time in any military. The clones get creative.**A bunch of mini-fics of the clones causing mayhem for fun
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 40
Kudos: 298





	1. Monkey-Lizard Race, 501st edition

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Prayer for Strength in Adversity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407009) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> This is entirely inspired by the Soft Wars fics. They made me want to write again. I maybe stealing the Soft War version of Jesse. I will be trying to write a mini fic every day so feel free to give me prompts or ideas cause I need help lol. This will be the eventual drop off spot for my general silly stories.

“It’s not going to work,” Echo decided out loud. The monkey-lizard looked at the treat they had thrown at the end of the marked off track and looked back at them unimpressed.

“Cueball just needs a little bit of encouragement,” Hardcase protested.

“Stop naming the monkey-lizards,” Jesse snapped, “We’re not keeping it.”

They all went silent and stared at the little creature. It’s mouth opened surprisingly wide as it yawned at them, showing off rows of sharp teeth.

“We just need to brainstorm!” Fives tried, “so- how do you race a monkey-lizard.”

Shortly after Rishi, Echo and Fives had privately decided that the Captain was omniscient. Echo could already feel Captain Rex’s disappointment in them. He didn’t want to be associated with this, staring at Cueball as it looked around the hanger. This was exactly the level of stupid he had been making an effort to distance himself from. The Captain was probably going to pull out the face. On some instinctual level, Echo hated that face. He wanted to hide every single time it came out.

Hardcase walked around the race lane to grab a holopad. Cueball watched as he rounded the far corner. Finally deciding it was interested, the monkey lizard ambled over the to treat, then quickly shoving it in it’s face; like maybe, last second, someone was going to steal it.

In the end, Echo also knew, there was no fraking way they were going to let the Nova shebs win. Echo steeled himself. They just had to make sure Captain Rex never found out why exactly they were racing monkey-lizards. 

“Guys,” Echo cut in, “I’ve got an idea.”

*

“Alright,” Jesse clapped his hands together. Fives shrieks seem to get higher to match the delighted tones of the monkey-lizard. “New plan. How can we cheat?”


	2. grav-lifts have other uses

“Fraking quite,” Warthog growled to the shiney standing behind him in a giggle fit. “I’m gonna miss it.” Coming from all speakers in every common space, Commander Wolffe gave the morning briefings. 

“-Expected arrival will be at 0900 shipboard time. Check with your direct CO if you have any questions on your part.”

There was a pause. Warthog wondered if nothing was really going to happen. If no one had caught on yet. Then his steadfast Commander started again, voice soft and low.

“It should also be pointed out the per GAR protocol, grav-lifts are only to be used for official use by authorized personal. Unauthorized use will be punished appropriately, when I track you down you little sleen-poot,” Wolffe ended with a snarl. The shiney started cackling again. “That is all.” The speakers turned off with an ominous click.

“What did you do?” Boost looked at the choking shiney. Poor kid was gonna be too obvious, Warthog knew. Didn’t even have a name yet and Wolffe was gonna eat him alive. Pity, the kid had some gumption and moments of hilarious tactical brilliance. But as long as he didn’t take Warthog down with him, it was a sacrifice Warthog was willing to take.

“It wasn’t me.” Warthog lied.


	3. life day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep arguing with myself if it's birthday or life day

“I’m just saying,” Wooley slaps his hand on the table dramatically, “If natborns get life day we should get them too.”

“Why are we copying natborns now?” Waxer mused. It was evening mess and most of Ghost were still streaming in, but it was already crowded with half of them deciding they all had to sit at the same table.

“What do you do on a life day?” Longshot peeked around several vode.

“They celebrate still being alive,” Wooley tells him.

“I don’t think that’s what a life day is,” Boil said, “and we weren’t born. We can’t have a life day.”

“Sounds like a quitter,” Wooley frowned at him. Boiled frowned back. This was inane, and silly, but also he was NOT a quitter. The thought of it inexplicably ticked him off. Wooley’s lip twitched and Boil realized he was probably being played.

“We could call it Decanting Day or something.” Wooley continued.

“Well, alright,” Longshot looked at his empty plate and thought for a second, “I’m still not sure what you do on a Decanting Day though.”

“We throw a party?” Wooley grasped. He hadn’t thought that far ahead apparently.

“I think there’s singing involved,” Waxer added, “and snacks.”

“When would we have this party?” Boil added. “Don’t they have it once a year?”

“I don’t want to celebrate my decanting only once a year,” Longshot complained.

*

When Gregor made it to the officer’s table, most of Ghost company was belting a song loud enough and off key enough that he could not identify it. One of them, he thinks his name is Wooley, is standing on top of the table, stomping to the beat and holding up what looked like a meiloorun fruit.

“What’s going on?”

“Ignore them,” Cody sighed, his head propped up on a fist, eyes closed and clearly ready for the rest shift. “They do this every month.”


	4. Fair Trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly all OCs. I needed Nova clones. Daan is from Soft War.

“I’ve got,” Lenti attempted casualness, “Two droid poppers. And one shiv, made of some bone. Or something. I don’t know.” Jet didn’t believe he did a very good job at it. The desperation was practically stifling, and that was his second favorite shiv. He had spent days sawing hooks into the side.

Daan grabs the shiv and spins it. “What else?”

Lenti frowns dramatically for a moment before nodding. Jet hands the package over appropriately on cue. Someone in the crowd, probably Bugs, stifles a giggle into a very real coughing fit.

Rummaging through the bag Lenti pulls out a long wire with long range adapter hook up and module only slightly bent.

The shiv stops spinning, Daan squints at the haul on the table.

“It works,” Lenti mutters. Daan poked the module so it slid in the mud on the makeshift table stump. It was a great trade, Jet knew. A working long range module was gold and Lenti had to fight two brothers for it. Daan would be getting a lot for practically nothing.

“No,” Daan decides. Jumping back as, like a switch flipped from contained to ready to throw himself into a brawl, Lenti leaps on the table.

“Why the frak not, you mangy little swamp rat?” Lenti hisses.

“Lenti!” Jet yelps.

“Getting worked up for a little fruit flavoring, aren’t you?” Daan bares his teeth in a challenge, as if he actually wanted to antagonize Lenti. Jet wondered if he set this up just to mock the sergeant. Daan had done something similar before, back on that moon with the purple waterfall. It had ended with half of the unit needing moon-calf vaccinations.

“It’s just a ration bar!” Jet tries to salvage it. Bugs has appeared on the other side of the table, hovering.

“He’s got the last Meiloorun,” Lenti snarls, eyes locked on the smirking medic who still hadn’t back down, “and it’s mine.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Last night I dreamed I was a womp rat again,” Hardcase cheerfully informs the mess table.

Again? Five thinks. 

“You were in it too,” Hardcase said excitedly to Jesse. Jesse aggressively slouched behind his caf cup. Besides Fives, Echo narrowed his eyes and considered it.

“What were you doing as a womp rat?” 

“I was exploring the tunnels! You know you can get in all sorts of places as a womp rat.” Hardcase laughed a bit like the maniac he was. “So now, I bet we can get into that shaft behind engineering if we use the vents from the officer’s barracks.” There was a moment of prolonged silence as they all took the topic switch.

“How do you know-” Fives started. Jesse cut him off as he dropped his caf on the table, half of it spilled out, and leaned across.

“We can get into the officer’s barracks from engineering?” Echo shared a look with Fives. Suddenly this became a possible thing.

“Well,” Hardcase grinned smugly, “I checked the original blue prints, and somethings may have changed, but I think we can. We can try at least.” Somehow Jesse actually looked delighted. It was vaguely unnerving.

“Why do you want in the officer’s barracks, Jesse?” Echo asked.

“And aren’t you an officer?” Fives added. Jesse stared hard at the twins as if that could stop them. Fives remembered when that dead-eyed look used to actually scare them.

“I knew you would like my dream,” Hardcase said.


	6. Thorn uses the system

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Thorn was based off of Marvel's Thor, why does this amuse me so much. Backstory: Soft Wars (I love it, ok??) was all B99 Guard. But like, I heard that and thought of Amy and her love of bureaucracy. So combine Thor and bureaucracy.

At some point between Thorn having walked through the front office and his long life-searching stop at the caf machine, the rodian at the visitor’s desk had gotten louder. Thorn could see a hand get waved in front of Rys’ face as he ambled over to his desk.

Hound had stolen his chair again and stacked it with actual paper books. From the titles he could see, they were on some arcane land stewardship laws. Thorn took the opportunity to steal Thire’s new plush desk chair, swinging it over. Adjusted it several inches higher before he even sat down. How _did_ Thire afford this thing. 

“Any news on the 2092?” Thorn asked. The SB10-2092 had become his unit’s pet project after a very regrettable night at 79s. ‘To identify and appropriately process all incoming requests of the Guard,’ is what Thorn told everyone that he needed to listen. Thorn had written it when half full of spite after a wayward mother had come in to complain about her son’s shady friends being shady. She couldn’t tell them what type of shady, but trust her, it was shady. 

“Not yet,” Hound scowled from behind his large pile of holopads. Besides him Grizzer the massiff gnawed on a fallen holopad. It noticed Thorn looking in it’s direction and changed the angle of it’s chewing as if to show off its holopad chew toy; muffled under the desk he could hear the _thack-thack_ of tail thumps. “I think Senator Trydel is catching on that it’s not actually file-able.” It wasn’t. That was the point of getting it approved. The complaints couldn’t reach them if they couldn’t file it.

“It’s a perfectly functional form of bureaucracy,” Thorn insisted, already mulling over how he would bribe Fox to be the one that said that to the sub-committee. Except more convincingly. 

Movement from the visitor’s desk had caught his eye. The rodian had turned purple and even more shout-y. Over the now flailing arms, Rys glared at Thorn. It was very much a ‘respectively, sir, why am I the one dealing with this and not you,’ look. Rys had somehow perfected it in the tenday he was forced to man the desk.

“He wants to talk to whose in charge,” Hound added helpfully, “Something about he doesn’t like the look of this sign yada yada I stopped listening after that.” 

Thorn nodded, took a sip of his perfect, _perfect_ caf, and sat back at his own desk. It squeaked a little, causing Hound to side-eye him. Thorn rocked back, letting it squeak again. He wondered if he could drag it out any longer, but Rys looked like he was going to march over and make him handle the problem.

“Alright, send him over,” Thorn waved indulgently. Barely, he could make out Hound sigh. _Overdramatic sheb,_ Thorn thought fondly.


	7. War in the Hanger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are these getting longer as I go. More clones + children then just clones being silly

Warthog had just started inspection when he rounded the corner of his jet and almost fell over a short being who had appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

“What the fr-” Warthog cut himself off. On the other side of the neighboring parked ship Tracer’s head peaked over curiously.

“You stole our secret spot,” the small child accused him with a scowl. He was young, a human like race that Warthog was not able to immediately identify. The kid threw his shoulders back as if making himself seem a little bigger on his already tiny body would somehow make him intimidating. 

“I didn’t steal anything,” Warthog automatically denied. Then, “A secret spot?” The kid kept scowling and gestured at the whole of the hangar that the GAR has recently acquired for use. Feeling somehow more awkward as he grasped for protocol, “Shouldn’t you be with a parent figure?” He recalled something about guardians and parents at one point during cultural flash training. He’s lucky they never actually graded for that stuff, he had spent the entire lesson watching holovids of aerial combat maneuvers instead. He wasn’t meant to deal with civvies, he was the air support, never grounded if he could help it.

The kid hesitated, looking over his shoulder momentarily, before mustering himself, “I ask the questions!” Warthog looked behind the kid. There was a squeak, a shadowy blob hidden behind a wheel shuffled backwards. Off on his wing Tracer dropped in. He looked too charmed by the unwanted quests. Warthog knew he would be no help.

“What’s the questions?” Warthog gave in and asked.

“We want our spot back,” the kid demanded.

“That is not a question,” Warthog advised. The kid narrowed his eyes. Familiar with this tactic apparently.

“Can we have our spot back?” the kid tried again.

“No,” Warthog only felt a little bad saying. With a huff the kid marched forward, kicked Warthog in the shin and took off running. Several children scattering after him.

“Little monster,” Warthog hissed, hopping on one foot.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Tracer laughed.

*  
*

At mess Warthog found another one. Sitting with Sinker and Boost at one of the booths in the officer’s corner was a small girl. Warthog stopped as he passed.

“Are we being invaded?” Warthog asked. “Sir,” He offered belatedly when Boost smirked. He didn’t realize what Sinker was doing till it was too late, and watched in horror as he snagged the cake on Warthog’s tray and slid it in front of the kid. That was his weekly desert ration. He had been hoarding it for when he knew one of the outside vendors would be on rotation for mess. It wasn’t GAR issued tasteless grub, one of the few times Warthog had managed to get anything half way decent in months and Sinker had taken it.

“Thank you,” She said politely with a lisp. Pulling in closer so her little arms could reach. She stabbed the whole thing with a fork and tried to pick it up that way. The cake broke in half. Warthog found himself staring at the crumbs that dropped onto the table.

“Are we?” Sinker asked the girl. She nodded up at him energetically. Swinging her legs so they kicked the chair across from her. Her feet didn’t even hit the floor. She smiled, open mouthed delighted with seemingly everything. She was missing a fang.

“Sanya says if we want our secret spot back we need to fight for it,” she beamed, “She said we can only tell you our name and dedication.” It sounded like someone had been watching too many of those holonet dramas Warthog had stumbled upon back when he was still in training.

“It’s designation,” Boost corrected her.

“Oh,” She said, face scrunched up for a second before deciding, “I’m in preschool.” 

Sinker laughed.

*  
*  
*

P53185 was a small planet that never even got a name beyond its interstellar designation code. The local farming community just called it P-5 when they were asked, and said it was as good as a name as any. The towns had name. Planets were planets. Warthog had stared straight ahead and let Commander Wolffe handle that one.

This was also apparently the quietest front in the war. They had been there a tenday, not a single active encounter. Or even hint of an encounter. As far as he could tell, there was no reason to be here. Worst off, Warthog was starting to believe the accumulative lack of action would lead to him falling behind on his required flight hours. Which was all the excuse any of them needed to run simulations against each other in a dirty, cheating tournament. 

Once, flying against several others on a race course, Commander Wolffe had missed the signal turn. So he flipped his sim around and rammed the lead as they looped around for another lap. He took out half the others before his ship was declared dead. Warthog, who greatly admired his commander, took notes. No other company had such efficient command staff. Eat that, 212th.

When Warthog was proving, yet again, that Tracer was a ridiculous nerf-herder who could barely make his way through a combat scenario when a voice cracking howl dropped on them.

They all looked up at the top of the freight trailers hauled in to surround the staged arena and there, legs braced and clearly ready for battle, stood the small child from earlier. Arms swinging about overhead, they held a stick with a coat tied to it. On the coat, rippling in the wind as the kid waved it viciously, was what looked like some sort of round four footed animal and illegible aurebesh. To Warthog’s nine o’clock another kid came running around the corner, holding the GAR battalion flag, and took off out the hangar doors. The kid on top of the trailer shoved his flag down so it staid upright and ran after his gang.

One of the scouts lunged after him and somehow missed when the kid swung around the pole of LAAT fuel line. Warthog leveled his sim and shot Tracer’s engine while Tracer stared in the direction the kids had streamed. The big screen displaying the scenario flashed several times in a flashy explosion before announcing Warthog as the winner.

“Anyone have an idea what just happened in my hangar,” Wolffe sounded more curious then anything as the silence settled in.

*  
*  
*

“You have a betrayer,” The kid who started this all said when Warthog almost walked over him again.

“Fraking nerf-tail,” Warthog bit out. It somehow didn’t feel as satisfying as actually cursing did. “Where are you popping up from? Is it the shinies, are they letting you in?” 

“What’s a shiney?” The kid asked.

“You are, little nugget,” Tracer said with a delighted smile.

“My name is Mylo,” the little nugget said sullenly.

“I’m Warthog,” Warthog exchanged. The kid made a face, unimpressed.

“You said someone betrayed us?” Tracer prompted.

“He gave us stunners,” The kid said instead. Warthog felt his insides shrivel. That did not sound like something that was a good idea. He imagined a herd of cadet-shinies with stun guns. Utter disaster. It also kind of reminded him of the scenario Sinker liked to run with the shinies with paint guns and open orders to take down everything that moved. Warthog reviewed that thought for a moment. That stinking traitorous Sargent.

“Was it Sinker?” Warthog demanded. The kid scrunched his face and thought about it.

“He was old,” the kid shrugged finally. Tracer snorted.

“Don’t tell him that,” he suggested. “Thanks for telling us, Mylo.”

“It was only fair I switched sides too,” The kid told him. His little face very serious. Warthog hadn’t realized they were recruiting. Then, equally serious, “Can I have a grenade?”


	8. Cody's Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autocorrect and formatting issues is my bane. Edited three times and still twitchy.

“You should think about it,” General Halot said to Cody, as the separatist delegates left the conference room. He had stopped by the Commander and leaned in close as if in personal confidence. He spoke gently, almost consoling as he continued, “It will be the best for your boys.” He reached out and patted Cody’s shoulder.

Cody stood very, very still. 

“That was enlightening,” Obi-Wan conceded when the Republic representatives had also trailed out. 

“It was,” Cody admitted, relaxing a touch when Obi-Wan pressed their shoulders against each other. Cody leaned back and breathed. In for four. Hold it, he could imagine Obi-Wan saying softly. And exhale. He could still feel the anger go from blinding to a banked simmer. Slowly, slowly, let it burn slow.

*

As the Halot Corporate space port imploded from a well placed chain of explosions, Boil imagined it as a customer complaint letter.

 _To whom it may concern,_ Boil believed it would start, _It has come to my attention that your fool-hearted braggarty and general disgrace of morality needed a sound ass kicking._

Separatist General Halot, having been escorted by Commander Cody, stood at the starboard port window of the GAR shuttle as it exited orbit to a safe distance, watching as his family’s galactic hub fell apart.

“You were right, General Halot,” Cody smirked. “We couldn’t stop you with the whole of our forces.” In the pilot seat Boil could see their jedi look over his shoulder, not quite hiding a grin. “I just needed five men.”

 _Etcetera, etcetera. Further communication will be responded to with violent prejudice._ Boil watched as Halot snarled. _Regards, the ass-kicking 212th._


	9. Monkey-lizard race, Nova edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the first chapter. Monkey-lizard racing always goes wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the entire reason I needed Nova clones for chapter 4. OC unit Hotel Bravo: Lenti, Hawk, Bugs and Tremor.

The official first rule of Hotel Bravo; Bugs is not allowed to have fun. 

“-but the Commander-” Hawk tries to argue. The pits of Lieutenant Krestor’s eyes does this thing sometimes, when Hotel Bravo is dragged in front of him, where they seem to suck out all the oxygen in the room. He turns them on Hawk, who pales and immediately snaps his mouth shut.

“How does the Commander have anything to do with monkey-lizard races?” Hotel Bravo, collectively as a unit, knew that now was a time to fortify their defenses and keep their yappers shut. Commander Bacara had absolutely everything to do with monkey-lizard races, and no one was ever going to find out; the commander included. Tremor can see when Lenti stabs Hawk in the back with the edge of his bracer for good measure.

Krestor lets the silence settle. Eying each one of them, considering. A good stewing, Tremor thinks. So all courage has time to evaporate. The lieutenant has something that is almost, but not quiet a smile. Tremor feels his insides shrivel a little.

Behind Krestor, officer Daan is messing with a holodeck, every once in awhile he snorts in amusement. Tremor is almost positive he can hear the hysterical laughter of monkey-lizards. It may just be the memories of the shrieks that haunt him, though.

After a few minutes of mental anguish, Bugs is the one that tries again.

“I believe, LT, that we have all learned a valuable lesson today.” Krestor slowly pivots to face him.

“And what would that be, Bugs?”

“Despite all levels of encouragement and a very clear goal, it’s near impossible to race a monkey-lizard, sir.”

“Very valuable lesson,” Krestor acknowledges dryly. “And you still managed to lose.”

“They cheated,” Tremor protests. Krestor turns the cavernous gaze toward Tremor. Tremor swallows slightly, refusing to move.

“Isn’t this why there’s a rule?” Daan cuts in, having turned off the holodeck, he leans against the edge and watches them with amusement.

“Yes,” Krestor says, “Did any of you think of the first rule? Lenti?”

“Sir. No, sir,” Lenti barks. Kestor seems to have given up on the stare down and rubs the back of his necks with a sigh.

“What is the first rule of Hotel Bravo, Lenti?”

“Bugs is not allowed to have fun, sir.”

“Did you have fun, Bugs?” Krestor asks.

“Tremendously, sir. Thank you for asking,” Bugs salutes, and Krestor for a second looks actually fond.

“Yes. Well. I’m glad.” He grins, “Suicide runs first hour.”

“First hour?!” Hawks protests.

“For the next tenday,” Krestor finishes, clearly satisfied when Hotel Bravo groan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less silly then normal maybe? Doc is offscreen OC clone that will probably never be mentioned again (anyone know if there was a named medic in the 104th?) I have this vague idea in my head that Warthog is basically the main character from Catch-22.

“I’m just saying,” Warthog said, “maybe you could write a note. Or something.” He was lying down on a exam table, the white light over head was not kind on the eyes, he thought. One of them flickered obnoxiously. Besides the weird light, the 501st had pretty nice med bays. Each section giving a fake modicum of privacy. The purple plants in the wall welded pots added a strange level of cheer.

“Or something,” Kix said, dry and rough like a tooka tounge. Warthog dropped his head to the side to watch as Kix grabbed the scanner and dropped it back in it’s charging port. “Don’t you have your own company medics?” Kix asked.

“Do you honestly believe I would voluntarily give Doc even a smidgen of leverage over me?” 

“Why would I ever dare to think that?” Kix dragged the visitor’s chair across the room, propping it against the exam’s table foot rest, he straddled it. The flickering light caused odd shadows across his face, Warthog watched feeling oddly relaxed.

The day before Warthog had overheard one of the 501st ARCs say the name ‘Kix’ and hadn’t been able to resist. He’d had slunk down the halls of the Dominator in the quiet between shift changeover. Feeling almost as if he was trespassing, though nothing explicitly said he couldn’t be there.

Kix looked tired, but good. Really good, Warthog was relieved to see. He hadn’t let himself think about it before, worry is useless when you can’t do anything about it. Still, sometimes it hit him how much he missed his old pod brothers. 

“I don’t know,” Warthog considered, “You’re the medic. Maybe you should do something about his crazy.”

“Or your debilitating trust issues.”

“Is that an actual problem though, or is it just being careful.” Doc was a pretty good brother. Great in a firefight, if a little intense when placed as gunner. The only problem Warthog had with Doc had more to do with his sudden intense allergy to his company’s med hall. Vaccines expire eventually and he hated needles.

“I can’t write a note to excuse you from meeting the local natborns,” Kix narrowed his eyes. Still a stick in the mud, apparently.

“I just think it would be the best for everyone if air support could stay as only air support.” Warthog argued. Kix continued the stare down. “They were throwing green things at me and yelling ‘ _schni schni,_ ’” Warthog tried desperately, “I don’t know what ‘ _schni ,schni_ ’ even means!”

Kix snorted, a poor attempt at covering a laugh.

“You don’t want to,” he remarked lightly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Yeah. These are all getting longer. It's hard to end something though when you don't have an actual plot lol I also had issues with this, because I was somewhat uncomfortable with the issues of trust and boundaries in this? But I have a vague part two idea that let me make amends with myself
> 
> Note: All stories in this series are in the same AU

“Cody? What in the world?” Obi-Wan stands over the balcony ledge, eyes wide in surprise as he takes in his Commander hanging from the rail. 

Cody closed his eyes, wondering how he keeps getting into these situations. “Sir,” He said, as if he hadn’t just been caught climbing into his general’s quarters. Somewhere either his line of communication or the clones on watch had failed. The other man should have been at a dinner party celebrating some jedi’s recent knighthood. The potential failure would have to be addressed later, in case there is an underlying problem that could show itself while in the field. Obi-Wan moved further in as Cody dragged himself over the ledge.

When he had righted himself, Obi-Wan had folded his arms back into his sleeves and was pulling off ‘disappointed jedi master’ surprisingly well for all that he was in a bathrobe. 

“Nice clothes, sir,” Cody remarked. Obi-Wan looked down blankly before readjusting the belt. There was nothing under the bathrobe, Cody realized before his mind blanked for a moment. Your mind is a mirror, he reminded himself fiercely.

Cody brought himself to attention, staring straight ahead. In his peripheral he could just make out the slow shadow that crept into the adjoining antechamber.

“What were you even doing, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, when he seemed to have decided his approach. Stern and commanding; clearly knowing something is up and if you confess now you maybe able to save yourself. Cody is familiar enough with the act, he has to do it at least once a tenday.  
`  
“Good question, sir,” Cody started, ready to drag this out as long as he could. Obi-Wan didn’t seem particularly mad. Cody had been worried. Nat-borns had a peculiar sense of privacy, and he had known he would be treading in it. He had just hoped to be gone before he was caught.

“Recent policy overwrites to GAR protocol calls for the encouragement of outside activities to lead to more stable mental and emotional response,” Obi-Wan expression didn’t change. “Recreational climbing, sir,” he offered at last.

“You only get that technical when your trying to bore your way out of a problem,” Obi-Wan critiqued, not impressed. Cody tipped his head up.

“It works,” Cody acknowledged. He could get General Skywalker’s eyes to go blank in one sentence. Obi-Wan smiled for a short second, before his face smoothed out.

“Be that as it may,” Obi-Wan hid his smile behind his hand, as if stroking his beard in thought. “You haven’t told me why I found you outside my window. Should I be concerned?”

“It’s nothing bad, General,” Cody admitted.

From behind Obi-Wan he could just make out the shape of Rex as he passed through the main hall connecting the kitchen, bedroom and the antechamber. Cody didn’t say anything. Rex, like the brat Cody denies ever having a hand in raising, turned around and finger gunned him as he slid out the door.

Cody must have made a face, or maybe somehow the brattiness seeped through the force, because Obi-Wan glances over and seeing the empty hall glances back. Obi-Wan stared at him curiously, Cody stared back. Let him ask, Cody feels daring in just thinking it.

The general had told him once that jedi can’t read minds. It’s not thoughts, but very strong feelings that give most away. Things that bleed across the force: like quilt and joy and anger. Which was good because Cody was very good at faking confidence. He had been practicing since he was youngling, and found that faking often led to reality. So he just thought it. Pictured it, a sort of aggressive feeling of presence.

He kept thinking how solid he felt and how nothing could move him, he had no reason to be ashamed to be here in this room. With Obi-Wan. _Who is half naked,_ the back of Cody’s mind helpfully added. Part of his brain found that _very_ interesting.

He liked his general. Had always liked his general. Obi-Wan was one of the first people that hadn’t treated him as just another clone. Cody liked how he listened when Cody had something to say. He also liked the way Obi-Wan looked at him now, sort of like he was a puzzle and sort of like he was fascinated.

“What are you thinking?” Obi-Wan wondered quietly.

“Nothing bad, sir,” Cody said again. Equally quiet. He watched idly as Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned pink. The jedi’s eyes widened, hand pressed against his brow as he half turned away.

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan coughed. He looked over, briefly meeting Cody’s stare again before flushing again. “It’s late, I think we can come back to this later.”

“As you say, General,” Cody said; then, softly, “Good night, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan, face still pink, smiled fondly. The world seemed so small between them, “Good night, Cody,”

When the door behind him slid closed, Cody glanced back at the empty door way. Not the way he had thought it would go, but that was easier done then he thought. Sliding out of apartment to where Rex was waiting for him, before he managed to think too hard about it.

*

 _“The Coruscant Temple Practical Approach, forms one to five,”_ Rex read aloud from the liberated holopad, “I guess it makes sense that Kenobi would have a copy, but I can’t believe Skywalker did too.”

“Are more you surprised he reads?” Cody grinned.

“You’re lucky your driving, vode.” Rex smacked his shoulder with the pilfered pads. Cody shrugged. They had a bet to win.

Commander Thire of the guard had taken up a whole booth at 79s. He gave them a friendly smile when they stomped through the door.

“Vode. I hadn’t expected you to show up so soon.”

“Did we win?” Rex tapped the table with a fist. Cody dropped the holopads in front of them. Thire leaned across the table and scooped them up. Making a show as he examined them.

“Nope,” Thire shook his head in faux sadness, but his lips kept twitching as he fought a smile. Cody scowled when Thire caught his eye. “Wolffe and Ponds beat you by a good hour.”

“How did they beat us?” Rex demanded. 

“Apparently they _asked_ the jedi for their holopads.” Thire chuckled. He waved his hand from where it rested on the back of the booth, encouraging them to sit down.

Cody glanced at Rex, who was silently mouth ‘asked?’ to himself.

Cody felt the same. Asking General Koon would have been an easy one, though he was surprised Wolffe would take that route, but picturing them asking Windu for his holopad to win a bet raised his level of respect for his brothers. They had gumption. Maybe he could get a vid recording of it.

“Hey, you beat the others at least,” Thire consoled them cheerfully. “I can buy you drinks for that, and because you won me several bets on General Skywalker having a copy too.”

Rex scowled when Cody nudged him. No one actually thought the General couldn’t read, he just had never been seen with a holopad before so their were theories. Like general dislike of all texts. Or allergies. 

“So,” Rex started. Then stopped, staring at the holopads. 

“So,” Cody agreed. “Now we got to figure out how to return them.”

“You could mail them?” Thire suggested.

“Then they’ll notice it was taken in the first place.” Cody waved it off. 

“Will General Skywalker, though?” Rex argued. “He’s going to think he lost it and someone helpfully returned it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans are off screen this time lol Poor Cody

“So, I’ve got an update,” It’s Rex that hisses it over the comms. Cody taps the link twice in acknowledgment.

“Due to- unforeseen circumstances,” There was a loud whistling screech over the comm, then a crashing noise. “We’re going to be a little delayed,” Another loud bang. Cody tapped the comm twice again. Then again when Rex didn’t immediately respond.

“Uh… I’ll get back to you?” Was that a question. It was definitely a question. Cody smashed the comm furiously only for it to turn off with a click when the other line dropped. Cody felt deep in his soul, as he had numerous times since Rex had rammed into his life, that Rex was a danger to anyone within five meters of him. Ten on bad days. He stared at the tiny bolt in the metal sheet above him; he had absolutely no problem blaming Rex for all of this.

Stuck in a very small vent and having to remain silent, odds were Rex was taking advantage of that. The tight ductwork he was in creaked and shuddered unexpectedly, Cody braced against one wall and peeked down through the grates at the assassin droids that were positioned in the hall below him. No sign they’d heard.

General Kenobi slid his arm out where he had adjusted it, grimacing in apology.

“News?” Obi-Wan breathed out.

“Delayed,” Cody mouthed. Obi-Wan grimaced again. The whole length of him a warm line that almost burned through Cody’s armour, trapped together and unable to move. It was both comforting and terribly nerve racking.

Below one of the droids shuffled to the deck window.

“Why is it always raining?” The droid complained. The tried and true complaint of any soldier, even droids, was always on the weather. “I’m going to be rusting by morning.”

Obi-Wan grinned at that, as if the droid was the most amusing thing in the world at that moment.

It would be easy, Cody thought, to reach up and kiss that smile.

Obi-Wan’s eyes slid to meet his, his eyes warm and filled with everything Cody wanted in the galaxy.

_Psssss shhhhhhhhh_

A loud click noise like a valve released. The droids below them shuffled around.

“What was that?” A droid yelled.

“Incoming!” Rex yelled in their comms.


End file.
